Title: Almost Lover (3?)
Pairing: Mark and Addison
Rating: PG
Summary: Mark is stopped in his tracks by something Addison left behind. Introduction of a possible love interest.
Disclaimer: Yep they're mine! Well, I like to pretend they are, but don't tell Shonda or anyone at Shondaland…or anyone at ABC for that matter.

A/N: Title of the fic is still a song by A Fine Frenzy. The title of this chapteris my favorite lyric, "This could be the very minute I'm aware I'm alive," from the song"Chocolate" by Snow Patrol. It's a song about drugs, but is strangely fitting with this pair. I don't know how I feel about this chapter either, but let me know.

All I can do is sit here and stare. For thefirst time in weeks she has resurfaced in my life. I've pushed every feeling, every thought about her out of my mind. And now, here I am face to face with the only thing left of her, left of us. I have made sure that deep down there is no piece of her with me. Her shoes are gone from my closet. Her smell, gone from my sheets. Her face, gone from my mind. It was as simple as that. Until now.

Now everything I have forgotten is swimming to the surface. The things I threw away, the memories I refuse to think about are all coming back. The room swallows me whole as I try to figure out what to do next. Where to look, where to step, I don't know. I had finally got myself together and now I'm, once again, in pieces. She's putting on earrings in the mirror. She's fixing her hair in the bathroom. She's searching for shoes in the closet. She's everywhere.

I look at the object hoping it'll tell me what comes next besides the date…and nothing. It's completely useless. All it does is tell me how long she's been gone and how long I've been alone. It reminds me that time has taken something from me, but in essence, it was a gift. It has wiped her away from my memory and it felt so damn good. I was able to wake up in the morning and not look next to me. I didn't have to wait to use the bathroom or argue about what to watch on T.V. It was such a relief to not think about anyone but myself. I finally got back into the groove of one.

Now I'm not thinking about one or two, but three. Thoughts of who we could be and where we could have gone start tugging at my insides. I forced myself not to think about it before and now I can't stop. The days and hours and minutes and seconds that have passed and could have passed are ticking in my head and they won't stop. All I can do is sit there and wonder.

I think about where she is and who she is. Only a few weeks have passed, but that's all it takes to change someone completely. And I know that better than anyone. I wonder if she's in Seattle or New York. I wonder if she's married or divorced. Most importantly, I wonder if she's happy. No matter how many bad decisions she made she deserved to be happy; everyone does. I wonder what she is doing at this exact moment. Who she is with, what she's wearing, what air she's breathing. I crave to know every detail and that is exactly why I can't think about her. Longing to know every detail will be the end of me.

And with that I've had enough. I can't sit here and do this anymore. She's gone. It's gone. It's over. There's nothing to think about; thinking only makes it worse. Why wonder about the things I'll never know? I throw it on the bed and walk downstairs to get my jacket and shoes and head out to grab a drink. It doesn't matter where I go tonight as long as they have a cure; something to make her go away. For good. Tonight is the night I drink her away. I'll drown every last bit of her in alcohol.

I walk into the corner pub and take in the large crowd. The noise is so loud it's muted and the smoke burns my eyes until they water, but this must be done. I notice an empty stool on the other side of the bar and make my way over. "Double scotch single malt," I tell the bartender. While I'm waiting for my liquid band-aid to come, I see someone out of the corner of my eye lean toward me. "Excuse me?" She's gorgeous. "Is this seat taken?" It obviously doesn't take me long to turn on the charm. "Now it is." She smiles and sits down.

"You come here often?" I ask her trying to ease into conversation.

"Actually, no. First timer."

"First time huh? It's been years since I've had a girl tell me that."

She looks over at me quizzically and lets out a small laugh, "That has got to be some sort of record." I look at her urging her to explain what exactly I have broken a record for. "It took you what like 6.5 seconds to bring up sex? Congratulations. That's very impressive" Sense of humor. I like it. Next: my go-to move. "Let me buy you a drink to celebrate."

"I'm actually meeting someone here in like 10 minutes," she says glancing down at her watch.

Never stopped me before I think to myself. "Plenty of time. What'll it be?"

She smiles and in that moment I decide there's no way I'm leaving without her. Her deep brown eyes speak to me and let me know she's actually living and beautiful and above all things, happy. And God knows I could use some of that in my life right about now. She loves who she is and where she is and is confident in both. Her eyes tell a completely different story than Addison's ever had. At some point Addison had life in her eyes, but now all I remember is the sadness that flooded them every time I looked at her. But this girl, whoever she is, is alive and embracing every single breath she takes.

"I'll just take a beer." A woman who knows the key my heart.

"Steve we need a beer for the lady and another for me!" I yell down to the bartender. "It's Jessie," she pipes in. "What?" I ask somewhat caught off guard. "My name. It's Jessie," she says as she reaches out her hand. I shake her hand and respond with a simple "Mark." The bartender brings us are drinks and I lift my glass. "To first times." She meets my glass in the air and repeats the toast, "To first times."

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Two hours later we are still sitting on our bar stools. Two hours later we're still drinking. Two hours later I'm still somewhat infatuated with her. She's like no woman I've ever met, except Addison. Every so often I see glimpses of her in Jessie. They look different, they talk different, they dress different, yet they're almost identical. I can't decide if the similarity to Addison makes me want to stay or run. I decide to stay. I've always been up for a good challenge.

She looks down at her watch and I remember how she was supposed to be meeting someone. "Guess he's not coming," I offer up sounding much harsher than I intended. "Guess not." She doesn't look sad or upset in anyway. "He wasn't that cute anyways," she says laughing. The way she laughs makes the whole room stop. The sound of her laugh sounds strangely familiar. Addison. I'll never forget the first time I made her laugh once Derek left. It sounded exactly like that. It was warm and full of hope. It made me fe-

"Mark, are you okay?"

"What? Oh yeah. I'm good." Awkwardness takes over so I do what I do best, second only to picking up women. "Lets drink." And we clash our glasses together and throw back the two shots she ordered. It rips through my esophagus and I know immediately that I will be taking a cab home.

"So Mark, tell me your story."

"I don't have one."

"Liar."

"Well what's your story?"

"I don't have one either."

"Well who's the liar now?"

"Tell me why you're here alone on a Saturday night. You're good looking, successful, funny. Something must be wrong with you and I'm dying to know what it is."

I just look at her and she knows right away. It must be a chick instinct. Addison could always read my face and knew what I was thinking almost all the time and now here is this girl I've known a few hours and she read me like a book.

"Oh I see. What's her name?"

Of course she went there. Dammit. I swore I'd never tell just anyone about Addison or Derek or what happened. It was too painful and I didn't want to go there unless I was sure this said person wasn't going anywhere. I just met this girl and there is no way I'm telling her anything. "Want to get out of here?" I offer up as a defense.

"You mean go back to your place?" I nod my head. "Dr. Sloan." She hops off the bar and reaches in her purse. "No offense or anything but if you want to sleep with me…" she pulls out a pen and writes on my hand 10 numbers "…you're going to have to try a whole hell of a lot harder than that." She clicks the pen, puts it in her purse and with that, she's off. I sit there and laugh to myself. Shut down on my first attempt at healing the good ole fashion way.

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I get home and climb the stairs hoping the alcohol will lullaby me right to sleep. I get ready for bed and once again am stopped in my tracks by the open object lying on my bed. I need to get rid of it in order for me to sleep, in order for me to wake up in the morning. I flip months ahead to the exact date and the red circle annihilates me. The day that once promised to change my life forever will be like any other day in my numb existence. I take it and rip it in half and then in half again and then in half again. I rip it into a million little pieces over the trash can and watch as my what-could-have-been-future floats down into the garbage can

I run my hands through my hair and sigh in resignation as the last piece of her is gone. As I walk toward the bed, the black numbers on my hand catch my eye. I think that maybe tomorrow will the day that I really drown her memory not by drinking, but by moving on. I sit down on the bed and look over at the trash can once last time to wonder where she'll be on that day. The phone number on my hand dances in my mind as I wonder where we will all be on that day.

Goodness knows I saw it coming… or at least I'll claim I did